


Both A Blessing And A Curse

by VampAmber



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fic, Complete, Dean finally figures it out, Dean thinks way too much, Destiel - Freeform, First Kiss, I'm not too good with tags can you tell?, M/M, Sam most likely already knows, barely described wet dream, excessive parentheses, first... other things, mild to moderate smut, thinking can be hazardous to your heterosexuality, why is hand holding so cute?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 16:43:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8168839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampAmber/pseuds/VampAmber
Summary: Moving into the bunker was a bit of a blessing. Suddenly, they weren't stuck living out of cheap, often times questionably hygienic, hotel rooms or the seats of the Impala. Sure, whenever a case took them away for more than a few hours (and let's face it, since when did they ever get cases that easy?), they'd be stuck back into one of the two settings. But afterward, they finally had a home to go home to. Dean smiled whenever he thought that. “Home.” Wasn't a word really in his vocabulary very often.But the bunker came with a curse, as well, at least where Dean was concerned. Without having to worry about where the next roof over his and Sammy's heads was gonna be, or just how disgusting his next meal of fast food crap would be tasting, there was almost too much down time to just... think. Dean had never really considered himself introspective, but now, with the echoing hallways and the wide open spaces, his brain kept poking in, wanting to have a good ol' chat with him, more often than he was comfortable with.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little idea that's been clunking around in my head, waiting to be written, for the past few weeks or so. Since joining the Good Ship Destiel, I couldn't help but form the theory that Dean wasn't bisexual, but actually pansexual, and this fic kinda grew from there. My first Supernatural fanfiction, so if I messed up anywhere, feel free to let me know. Always ready and willing to improve. ^_^
> 
> Also, I love getting comments on my stuff. They make me very happy. (and thus ends the pathetic begging for comments)

Moving into the bunker was a bit of a blessing. Suddenly, they weren't stuck living out of cheap, often times questionably hygienic, hotel rooms or the seats of the Impala. Sure, whenever a case took them away for more than a few hours (and let's face it, since when did they ever get cases that easy?), they'd be stuck back into one of the two settings. But afterward, they finally had a home to go home to. Dean smiled whenever he thought that. “Home.” Wasn't a word really in his vocabulary very often.

But the bunker came with a curse, as well, at least where Dean was concerned. Without having to worry about where the next roof over his and Sammy's heads was gonna be, or just how disgusting his next meal of fast food crap would be tasting, there was almost too much down time to just... think. Dean had never really considered himself introspective, but now, with the echoing hallways and the wide open spaces, his brain kept poking in, wanting to have a good ol' chat with him, more often than he was comfortable with.

He thought a lot about the past. In the beginning, most of it was the bad stuff: all the people he had lost, all the ones he couldn't save, all his faults and insecurities. Alcohol helped, sometimes, when it got real bad, but once Sam started giving him The Look, he let up a bit on his nightly fuck-ton of booze. Usually.

It was really only when Cas was there, or had just been there, that the bad-thoughts mostly went away. Unfortunately, they were often replaced by the weird-thoughts, the confusing-thoughts, and that almost seemed worse to Dean. Almost.

One that popped up every so often, much to his great confusion, was a completely random conversation him and Charlie had had one day, while surfing for clues to whatever case they had been working on at the time. Research had been going slow and dull and oh my god shoot me please, and Charlie had discreetly amused herself by wandering over to yet another Tumblr page she followed with a passion, one filled to the brim with what she considered wickedly cute LGBT pride art. Lots of chibis and rainbows, and Dean could tell from the look of glazed happiness on her face that they'd lost her already.

No way in hell was he gonna call her out on it, though, seeing as how he'd had anime on mute with subtitles for the last two hours. Sam still looked focused and on subject, so Dean couldn't even look at whatever was making her so damn happy without giving away they were both playing research hooky.

A half hour later, though, Dean and Charlie both jumped slightly at the loud groan and the slamming of a book coming from the other end of the table. “I give up,” Sam mumbled loudly, pushing back his chair. “It's past three in the damn morning, and this is getting us a lot of nowhere fast. I'm going to bed.”

Dean made sure to close his laptop before his brother had the chance to see what the animated chicks were doing in a very not-pg way, then nodded in agreement. Mind you, he'd watched almost half a season at this point, but he was definitely not pointing that out. “Sounds like a plan.” As his brother left the room, he opened the laptop back up to exit out of the episode before shutting it off for the night.

Charlie, on the other hand, was still smiling at whatever she'd been doing instead of studying. “Watching porn over there?” Dean asked, teasingly. “Anything I've seen?” He laughed at his own joke, because dammit, he was funny.

“Oh!” Charlie said, not really expecting Dean's interest. “Just hanging out on Tumblr. All very family friendly. 'Cept the stuff that's not.” She laughed nervously, but by now Dean knew that that was just how she normally was.

He walked behind her to look over her shoulder. “What's with all the flags?” The screen was full up of a bunch of different colored flags, with lots of different colors. Very bright and festive, he guessed.

“All the different pride flags, duh.” She rolled her eyes. When he still looked confused, she explained further. “Like that one,” she pointed to the rainbow flag, the obvious one to start with, “that one's for gay pride.”

“Oh yeah, those. I've seen 'em before.” He nodded along, not sure what the other ones could be.

“Well, that one's for bisexuals,” she said and pointed to the one that was blue and pink and purple.

“What's that one?” He asked, pointing to a pink and blue and yellow one. “Looks like it's a piece of candy or something.”

“That one's pansexual.”

“Pan-what?” Dean was completely confused now. Gay, he knew, bi, he knew (and thought was hot whenever a girl said she was). But this one was completely new to him.

“Like bisexual, only a lot more open. Not just heart eyes for guys and girls, but for everything in between, too, like gender fluid or whatever.” She stared at Dean for a few seconds, then sighed and tried a different tactic. “It's when you fall in love with a person, not what's in their undies. You know, hearts not parts?”

Still trying to grasp what exactly his friend had said, she sighed again. “Maybe we all oughta hit the sack,” she said before closing up her own laptop. “World changing revelations can take some time to sink in.” She hugged him and bounced out of the room. Dean just shrugged and headed towards his own bedroom.

See? Not very important at all, so why the hell did it keep popping up? Running his hand through his hair, Dean still couldn't figure out why, even after all this time. It was always after some kind of interaction with Cas, though. Or maybe that was just a coincidence. Yeah, must be.

He turned the light off and got under the covers. Act 487 of Thinking Too Much Theater was over for the night.

But with no case on deck at the moment, Act 488 started not long after breakfast. Cas had sent a text, saying he'd be swinging by tomorrow, and Dean was kinda surprised at how happy that made him. It was always great to see his best friend, but not this level of happy great. Wandering back into his room, he grabbed his headphones and picked out something from his perfect music collection. Leaning back on the headboard, spacing out like a teenager, his brain went into overthink mode.

It started subtle, remembering some of the funnier moments of him and Cas and sometimes Sam hanging out, being generally normal as opposed to big-deal hunters. He let out a laugh, remembering the fiasco that was the one and only time he'd taken Castiel, angel of the lord, to a brothel. He'd looked so terrified, sitting there. And then afterward, when they'd had to hightail it out. He wouldn't trade that memory for anything. Hell, a lot of his best recent memories involved Cas in some way. The guy could make even Purgatory not so damn awful.

Which was the absolute wrongest thing to think, ever, because it reminded him of how bad it had been after he'd got out. Out without Cas. He'd even gotten to the point where he'd been hallucinating the guy. When the hell did he get so damn close to the angel?

And never ask your brain a question you didn't want answered, because suddenly it was like Dean had died and his life was flashing before his eyes (even though that'd never really happened all the times he had died), scene after scene of him and Cas, him trying to find Cas, him needing Cas. Blue eyes haunted his memories, blue eyes and a deep gravely voice and a fucking ugly trench coat (that Dean would never admit to anybody that he missed horribly).

Even when he hadn't been in danger, hadn't been in desperate need of some kind of help, Cas had been in his thoughts. Especially recently. He'd see something in a store and wonder if Cas would like it too. Or he'd watch a show on Netflix and add it to the ever growing list in his head of stuff he needed to make the angel watch. New food that he wonders if Cas would appreciate. Music that he needed to force Cas to listen to to make sure he was hearing the right stuff. Hell, every so often, he'd miss the guy just because of the comfortable silences. Like right now, as much as he didn't want to admit. Right now he really missed his damn angel.

Wait.

His angel?

The fuck.

Sitting up too quickly in bed, he yanked the headphones off his head, scraping the side of his face in the process. He didn't even notice, though.

Where the fuck did that thought even come from?

Yeah, he did kinda get Dean out of hell, literally. And yeah, he was pretty much always there when Dean needed him if it was at all possible. He was definitely his best friend, and he really liked hanging out with him because he was fun most of the time (and a billion times more fun than back in the beginning when he had that holy stick up the ass). He was the closest thing Dean had to family after his brother. But where the hell did this possessiveness come from all of a sudden?

But when Dean thought about it (and there wasn't much choice, since he still hadn't replaced his most recent empty bottle of whiskey with a not empty one, and besides, it wasn't even noon yet and he wasn't prepared for that level of alcoholism just yet), it wasn't really all of a sudden. It was a very gradual slope. He almost took the poor guy for granted sometimes.

Whenever he needed him, Cas was there. Whenever he was in trouble, that flap of wings sounded and there he was, angel blade out, ready to fight for his very life, just because Dean had prayed the word “help.” And the longer they knew each other, the more they went through together, the more he had felt it. That feeling of “mine.” And often, it had that new little companion with it, “need.”

He needed Cas. Sometimes, he just plain needed him. Was he developing some co-dependency bullshit like he had with Sammy (because even he was willing to admit that that was what he had with his not-so-little brother)?

Only... it was a different kind of feeling with Cas. With Sam, he needed him near to know he was safe and not out doing stupid shit or getting attacked. But with Cas, there wasn't any real reason why he wanted to be near him. He just did.

Groaning and sliding further down the bed, Dean covered his face with his hands. Yeah, this whole thinking thing was definitely a curse, because he knew that he wasn't stopping now. Couldn't if he tried.

His traitorous brain made him remember just how badly it had killed him whenever Cas had went missing or died. That image of the dirty, stained trench coat he had dragged from car to car, all so that he had a piece of his friend left. How his heart had freaking skipped a beat or ten when he saw him alive again, and how it had stabbed him in the damn soul when he'd had no idea who Dean was.

Days and days of running around in Purgatory, not caring about going home or even being safe, because all he could possibly think about was finding the angel. His angel. He'd never said it, but it was what he was thinking. His angel. Had to find his angel. Had to keep his angel safe. Had to protect his angel.

And the staring. The damn staring. Most days, he just couldn't look away. Couldn't, even if he tried. Which he usually didn't want to. Those eyes, though. They were different than Jimmy's. Same eyes, but Dean could easily tell it was a different person using them. They'd been completely foreign when the Leviathan had been using Cas as a meat puppet. Same eyes, but wrong. So very wrong. The angel still didn't have a complete grasp on facial expressions, but any more, Dean could take just one look at those eyes, and know exactly what was going on with Cas' emotions, if he was hurt or scared or worried or angry. They were just freaking eyes! How could they be so damn expressive?

And when did he start paying so damn much attention to something like a guy's eyes? Or his voice? Or his clothes?

He wasn't... gay, was he?

No, no, nonononono, that didn't make any sense at all. Women were still way too nice to look at, way too great to tumble in the sheets with. Totally not gay.

Bisexual?

Still didn't seem quite right, because he hadn't been attracted to Jimmy in any way, couldn't really think of any guy (other than Cas) that he'd ever had the hots for, had a crush on, anything like that. It was just Cas. Only Cas.

Wait, what was that one candy flag for again? The “hearts not parts” one that Charlie had mentioned, confusing the hell outta Dean before giving up on the explanations? Pansexual? Yeah, that sounded right. Pansexual. Was he that?

Because it was only Cas. Nobody else.

So, okay, crisis of sexuality averted. That just left the crisis of “Holy crap, do I like Cas?” He said out loud, but barely above a whisper. He shoved the pillow over his face roughly, and muttered into the fabric a very understated “fuck.”

It all made sense now, as much as Dean didn't want it to. Those stares, he'd only looked at women that way before, and even then only the really important ones like Lisa. Though he couldn't for the life of him remember ever looking at Lisa with anywhere near as an intense gaze as he gave to the angel (his angel) on a regular basis lately. Hell, even when he'd been with Lisa, living the white picket fence dream, he'd always wondered if Cas was okay, if he was safe, what he was doing, dear God he'd had it bad even then.

It had been there a long time, Dean had just never acknowledged it. Never really wanted to. Never even knew it was there, as far as he could remember. It just was. Maybe it had even started in that barn, all those years ago. “We have a more profound bond,” Cas had once said. Was that what Dean was experiencing now? Had some gay romcom went down in Hell, that he just couldn't remember? He never could exactly picture how exactly he'd got to be topside. Could recall Hell itself, in all its PTSD-inducing detail, but it was all but a blank on the major rescue effort. If he tried really hard, he could remember relief and a feeling of safety, stronger than he'd felt since he was a kid, since before he'd become a hunter. Was he remembering Cas?

Too many thoughts whirled in his head like that Tea Cups ride on acid, a headache already forming, pounding at his temples. He climbed out of bed and wandered towards the nearest bathroom, wanting to down some pain killers (and trying to talk himself out of downing some whiskey with them, because seriously, not even noon yet). The thoughts accompanied him. They reminded him of all those warm fuzzies he'd gotten whenever Cas had done something, said something, just plain existed near him. The instant smile Dean would always feel when the angel poofed in out of nowhere or walked through the bunker door. Downing the pain killers with a glass of water, his mind gave him almost a slide show of Times Cas Made Dean Happy For NO Reason.

Sinking back onto his bed, so far into his thoughts he wasn't even aware of the tiny noise made by the still playing music coming out of his forgotten headphones, he sighed.

Okay, so maybe he did, sorta, have a tiny bit of a thing, maybe, kind of, for Castiel. That admission felt weak, though, even to Dean, who had been happily in denial until very recently.

“I'm in,” he paused, trying out the words on his tongue, to see how they fit in his mouth, “in love with Cas?” The rightness of that statement scared the hell out of Dean. He needed to punch something to feel masculine again. Because seriously, it was supposed to be no chick flick moments, and this was so freaking chick flick it hurt.

But, now that the cat was out of the bag, Dean could kind of see the hints he'd been giving himself. The nightmares that used to be a staple whenever he feel asleep sober were almost non-existent now, and when they did show up they were always focused on current bad shit instead of every failure ever. In the last few months, he hadn't even needed as much alcohol, especially, surprise surprise, whenever Cas was around.

He sighed even bigger, never the stupid one (or at least not that stupid). “I guess I'm in love with the guy.”

It seemed so quick, coming to a conclusion like that, but his brain had made some very good arguments, and as much as he loathed to admit, it had been underneath the surface of pretty much everything for the past few years. More coming out of denial than anything else, really. But it didn't make it feel less awkward or weird. It suddenly felt like his skin was stretched too tight or put on incorrectly or something.

And it brought up an even bigger can of worms: would he tell Cas? Should he? He was gonna be at the bunker the next day, after all.

But just the thought of going up to the angel and admitting his crush was enough to scare Dean more than any monster ever had, Lillith included. Just because he was in love with the angel, that didn't mean he had to tell him, right? Even if he had been for years now.

How would Cas even react? Would he tilt his head, confused? Would he get all uncomfortable? Would he leave? Dean didn't think he could take the look of pity in Castiel's gaze, that look of “oh, I'm so sorry, but I don't feel that way about you.” He'd given that look himself to more than a few girls in his earlier days as high school Casanova, he didn't think he could ever handle Cas giving it to him.

But Cas had been staring, too. Had been reaching out to him for cases to solve together, time to be with each other. Dean wasn't just a job to him any more, right?

All those personal space issues, always leaning into Dean's bubble like he owned the place. Was that just because he was an angel who didn't know any better, or was it something else? Because Cas hadn't stopped doing it, even after he should've known better (especially with Dean yelling at him about quite often in the beginning). The touches, the glances, the outright staring. What did it all mean?

No matter how hard Dean thought, no matter how good he was at figuring out Cas' thoughts and feelings through just the eyes, he could not even once think of a time where he had seen that “something more” in those blue depths. Though, playing devil's advocate, he'd also never thought to look for it.

Was this crap always so hard?

Dean heaved a huge sigh, feeling defeated because by now he had run out of epiphanies and was left with only “what if”s. Those things were dangerous, he knew from far too much personal experience. Some of his worst nights had been plagued by the damn things, swarming him, not letting him think of anything else. And these “what if”s were way more painful to consider than a lot of the past ones, because he could finally tell just how much his heart was tied to that angel. Hell, if just the thought of getting turned down if this crap was unrequited was enough to make Dean feel punched in the gut, that had to mean that he was totally freaking smitten. And since when did he use words like “smitten”?

“Screw it,” he muttered, before getting back out of his bed once again, music still flowing out of his forgotten headphones, as he grabbed a gun and headed towards the shooting area the Men Of Letters had, thankfully, set up in the bunker all those years ago. They may've been book nerds like Sam, but they were smart where it counted, too. And shooting stuff sounded like a great way to shut out the noise of his brain right now.

A few hours of putting holes into targets, with a quick sandwich lunch in the middle, had Dean calmed down a tiny bit (or at least calm enough to not get shit faced drunk to shut up the worries still running through his brain, though at a much slower speed than earlier). He even managed to joke around with Sam for a bit after dinner, making pointless small talk in a very brotherly bonding sort of way. He tried to ignore the occasional look he got from his brother, and if asked would say he was successful.

Did Sammy already realize this Cas stuff already? Shit. No. No way would his annoying brother leave him alone for even a minute if he had suspected anything, right? Not like Dean wouldn't have completely deserved pretty much any teasing thrown his way, after some of the shit he'd given Sam over the years. But still.

Dean took another swig of beer, and almost choked on it when Sam casually mentioned “So, Cas is coming back tomorrow, right?”

Coughing and trying to not blush, Dean just nodded his head. Sam just stared for a few seconds before continuing, that look on his face as if he was trying to figure out a riddle or a puzzle or some weird ass book for research. “Something wrong, Dean?”

“Wrong pipe,” Dean said, still coughing slightly. Hopefully, the redness creeping up his neck could be mistaken for exertion from inhaling a mouthful of beer, because his little earlier epiphany was still too new and raw and fresh to be sharing it with anybody, especially his brother. Taking in a deep breath, his coughing finally stopped and he said “I'm good.”

Sam stared at him intently for another minute, making the blush creep up further and faster, and Dean thought he was gonna have a heart attack or something when finally Sam just shrugged and smiled. “Think I'm gonna hit the sack early, since he said something about getting here in the morning. You probably should, too.” Finishing off his beer, Sam threw away the bottle and left the room, and Dean was never more thankful for his brother being one of those health nerds before in his life.

It was late enough to head to bed without feeling like a wimp, so Dean threw his own empty bottle away and headed for his room, hoping that sleep would actually come quickly, so that he wouldn't be stuck thinking any more. Freaking curse, is what it was.

He passed out almost immediately after his head hit the pillow. Emotional angst was apparently very exhausting. But the angst wasn't done with him yet, because his dreams were full of blue eyes and deep, gravely voices, and were equally divided between Cas rejecting him, and Cas reciprocating his feelings. The last one before he woke up was one of the reciprocating ones, going a lot further than the others, straying into the land of pornographic. Flashes of him and Cas kissing, the feel of tongues battling for entry, the grinding of hips against each other. Dean started nibbling the angel's neck, Cas letting out what was quite possibly the sexiest whimper Dean had ever heard, waking or otherwise. Hungrier and hungrier, there was more biting, and licking, and oh god that beautiful feeling of friction. Flashes of blue eyes and panting lips and the most delicious soundtrack of groans and sighs and moans that no porn movie could ever match. So close, so close, fuck so close.

“Oh god, Cas!” he shouted as he felt his release. Right then was when he woke, feeling the last bits of his orgasm fade as his sheets started reminding him of what had just happened. Dean Winchester, way past his teenage years, had just had a (very vivid, and admittedly very hot) wet dream.

He closed his eyes again and let out a very frustrated “fuck.”

Dawn had just barely broke when he'd been woke up by his damn libido, and he paced the laundry room nervously as his sheets tumbled about in the dryer. A wet dream. He'd just had a fucking wet dream. About Cas. What the hell?

Sliding down the wall to sit on the floor, head in his hands, hair still dripping slightly from the shower that had been a necessity, the doubts once again returned full force. Should he tell Cas what he figured out? Would things work out if he did? How screwed would he be if he didn't? Did the real life Cas actually kiss anything like his dream version did?

Only one thing was definitely clear, though: now that he'd realized it, it was never going away, and probably going to keep getting stronger and stronger (because why on Earth would life start getting fair now?). Somehow, between all the thinking yesterday and the dream last night, he had almost completely accepted that he had these feelings towards a guy, or at least towards somebody that was currently wearing one. He could see it all a lot more clearly now. Didn't mean he magically knew what to do with it, but at least those last few shreds of denial had left around the same time he'd gotten into the shower. Dean Winchester was in love with Castiel.

Not just crush. Certainly not just lust. But love, most likely with a capital L. The dryer dinged, snapping him out of his self confession. Gathering up his clean, fabric softener-scented sheets, Dean headed off to his room. Not exactly his luckiest direction as of late, but no way in hell was he ever going to let Sam know that he'd had to wash his sheets for some reason at the butt crack of dawn. No sibling deserves ammunition that big.

Right as Dean was finishing making his bed, he smelled coffee brewing, so after tucking in the last corner, he headed towards the kitchen and blessed caffeine. He was greeted with the sight of his brother pouring some into a mug. “You're up earlier than usual,” Sam remarked, grabbing a second mug now that he knew Dean would be needing some. “And you look like shit.”

“Couldn't sleep,” Dean grumbled, not wanting to talk about anything at this point, brain still all full up on everything else that's been running through his head non-stop since yesterday. He grabbed the full mug from his brother grumpily and sat down in one of the chairs, taking a long sip. It didn't exactly fix his problems, but damn if it didn't feel good anyway.

“Excited about Cas getting here?” Sam asked, smirk obvious in his voice before Dean even looked up. Shit! Did he know? Did everybody know? Shit!

“No,” he croaked, so damn glad he'd been in between drinks this time, so as to not have a repeat performance of last night.

Sam just laughed. “Yeah. Sure.” He went over to the fridge and grabbed some stuff to make breakfast with, his older brother glaring at him the whole time.

“So maybe I miss the guy. So what?” Dean said between sips from his mug, fingers a little bit white from how hard he was unknowingly holding it.

More laughter from the overgrown moose. “I'm not judging anything,” Sam with a half shrug said as he got out a frying pan and started making eggs.

“Cuz there's nothin' to judge,” Dean muttered, watching intently to see how many eggs were being cracked, trying to figure out if his brother was being generous with his cooking this morning. He finally smiled for the first time that morning when he saw the extra eggs start going in, since that meant he didn't have to cook for himself. He even offered to be the one who made the toast, trying to ignore the knowing looks his brother kept shooting his way.

Second cup of coffee mostly empty and breakfast plate a few small bites of egg away from being completely empty, Dean jumped when his phone buzzed in his pocket, the tone for a text message way louder than he felt it should've been. Fumbling to get it out and read it, he couldn't hide the grimace when he read the message from Cas, saying he'd be at the bunker shortly. It took everything in him to not start panicking right then and there.

“Bad news?” Sam asked, confused.

“Umm, yeah, no, everything's cool,” Dean said, putting the phone back. “He just... just wanted me, wanted us to know he'd be here soon.” The award for stuttering teenager with his first crush goes to...

“Ahh,” Sam replied, after a pause. “Okay then.” He ate the last few bites on his plate and went to wash it in the sink. All Dean could do was stare at the tiny pile of egg left on his own plate and focus on breathing. Sam came back for his brother's plate and saw Dean trying and failing to hide his minor freak out, and he got concerned. “Hey, Dean, you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm good, I'm fine,” Dean said, very unconvincingly.

“Because you look like you're gonna be sick. Was it the food?” Sam grabbed the plate and looked at the leftover bits, though it was everything he himself had eaten, down to the butter drippings left from the toast.

“I'm...” Dean hesitated. “I think I'm gonna go lay down. Til Cas gets here.” He damn near knocked over his chair in his rush to get out from under the scrutiny of his little brother.

Flopping down on his clean sheets, Dean's brain was screaming at him in a panic. What was he gonna do? What should he do? What should he say? Did Sam know? Was it that obvious to everybody but him? Did Cas know? What should he do? Fuck, what should he do?

Working himself up into a huge, ugly mess, Dean didn't even hear his brother until he cleared his throat as a way to announce his presence. “Are you sure you're okay, Dean?”

Without even thinking, Dean threw his pillow at Sam and screamed “Get out!”

Looking wounded, Sam all but ran from the room.

And that, of course, was when his phone buzzed again, letting him know that Cas was outside, waiting. Once again not thinking, he leaped out of bed and ran to the door, socked feet slipping this way and that as he barely avoided running into at least eight different walls and inanimate objects. Slightly winded, he pulled open the door to reveal the smiling face of his angel, the reason he'd been freaking out, the source of his emotional agony, the person he wanted to see the least right now and never wanted to look away from ever again.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said, his voice everything it always was but somehow even more.

Shit shit shit shit shit...

“Hey Cas...”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote. I think. For this one, at least.
> 
> I had plans for this chapter, really great plans, and then the characters had to go off and do their own things. So, instead of a great epic of a chapter, I ended up with this. But hey, who can say no to those two?
> 
> Enjoy! *passes out the popcorn*
> 
> (again, if there any mistakes, please lemme know, so I can fix them and/or learn from them)

“Hey Cas,” Dean said, looking obviously flustered and winded. Castiel tilted his head, unsure as to why the hunter would be like that. There wasn't any emergency, so there wasn't a need for him to rush to the door just to let him in.

Dean just looked down and moved out of the way to let him pass. And now Cas was really confused. He'd been gone for longer than usual this time, and unlike the other times, his greeting from Dean hadn't been enthusiastic and cheerful. There were no hugs, no bright smiles. Was Dean sick, perhaps?

“Is everything okay, Dean?” Cas asked, concern lacing his voice and filling his eyes. He reached forward to touch his hand to Dean's forehead, a move that he had learned that was supposed to check for a fever and thus tell if a person was sick, but Dean just jumped out of the way, eyes still downcast.

“Naw, man, I'm good,” Dean said, gaze still aimed at the floor. Usually, they maintained a lot of eye contact, but that wasn't the case this time. Cas stared even more intently, trying to decipher this new puzzle.

Just as he was about to ask again, and this time try to force Dean to answer without lying, Dean hurriedly walked away, in the direction of the kitchen. “There's fresh coffee,” he called over his shoulder, without really looking back. Castiel just stared as he walked off, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. Something was definitely off.

Cas cared deeply for Dean, so worrying was his natural state in times such as these. Cas would do anything to help the elder Winchester, had always done everything in his power. But unfortunately, he could only help if he knew what the problem was, and with Dean dodging his questions, he had no choice but to follow him to the kitchen.

Dean was already sipping from his own mug and holding out a second, filled one when he arrived. Cas took it and was saying thanks when he looked down and noticed that it already had the creamer in it. He took a hesitant sip and found that not only had Dean put in the perfect amount, he'd also put in exactly the right amount of sugar, just like Cas liked it. He blushed slightly, turning away from the man, not really sure what had set the blush off this time. It was only coffee.

If Cas was honest with himself, though, he'd know it was the thought behind the coffee that was turning the tip of his ears pink. Dean had always been like this, so thoughtlessly taking care of everyone around him. He'd always admired that about Dean, and strove to return the favor in as many ways as he could. As little as Dean himself thought he deserved to be looked after and taken care of, Cas thought he deserved the world and then some.

Dean Winchester's soul had shone brighter than anything from the very first time he had ever laid eyes on it. Even in hell, even doing horrible things that he would never have chosen to do otherwise, Dean shone like a beacon of hope to the over-stressed angel fighting his way through the most important rescue mission of all. Even after Castiel had put him back together on Earth, he had still kept that shine. The fact that he thought so little of himself pained Cas whenever he thought about it.

Cas realized he was staring and turned away, worried that maybe whatever was bothering Dean was his fault. Had he stayed away for too long this time? Maybe he should try apologizing?

“Dean,” Cas started, turning towards the man. “If I were away too long, I apologize. It was not my intention. Things got away from me...” 

“What?” Dean interrupted him. “Why are you apologizing, Cas? You didn't do anything wrong. I just...” He let off whatever he was going to say, sighing loudly into his coffee mug instead. There was an almost anguished cast to his features, and that made Cas worry even more.

“Something is wrong, Dean. I can tell. Please tell me what it is?” Cas moved towards the beaten looking man, wanting, no, needing to comfort him in his time of need. He wanted to wipe that pain off Dean's face, wanted it so completely.

“It's...” Dean paused. “It's nothing Cas. Just stupid stuff.”

Cas put his hand on Dean's shoulder, trying not to feel hurt when Dean jolted at his touch. “Please, Dean? I want to help.” He gripped tighter, unsure as to whether this was the right time to pull him into a hug. He didn't want to make things even worse than they already were.

Finally Dean looked up at him, his eyes for some reason filled with fear. That broke Cas' heart, and before he could think, he pulled the slightly larger man into a hug, almost spilling both mugs of coffee in the process. But unlike every other hug he had shared with the hunter, this time Dean stiffened.

“Cas, please don't,” Dean whispered in his ear. A shiver ran through him as this, the sadness in Dean's voice heavy.

He pulled away from him enough to look at him in the face, search his eyes for the meaning behind this. Cas stared at the man in front of him, “I don't understand.”

Instead of answering him, Dean just leaned in closer, faces almost touching. He whispered the words “I'm sorry” so lightly, it was barely there, right before he crashed his lips into Cas'.

Castiel's eyes widened, because this was literally the last thing he had expected to happen, not just today, but ever. The mug dropped from his hand in surprise, shattering on the floor and spreading the beautifully made coffee in a puddle around their feet. Dean was kissing him! Finally unfreezing, realizing how much he wanted this, had always wanted it and didn't realize, Cas was about to put his hand onto Dean's face and kiss back when he pulled away, looking more frightened than ever. “Dean,” Cas whispered, unsure of exactly what was happening, why Dean had broken the kiss so abruptly, when suddenly, Dean was dashing out of the room, still gripping his empty coffee mug tightly. Castiel just watched him go, brain running a mile a minute, trying desperately and failing miserably to sort out what exactly had just happened.

He touched his fingers to his lips. He could still feel Dean's there, still smell him on his shirt. Stepping around the puddle on the floor, mentally apologizing to Sam if he were the one to find the mess before he could get back here and clean it up, Cas headed in the direction that Dean had just run, fairly certain the man had headed for his room.

The closed door that met him when he arrived told Cas that he had been right in thinking that would be where Dean went. He tried the knob but it was locked, so he settled for knocking. “Dean,” he called, still knocking. “Dean, please open up. We need to talk.”

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that, I had no right to. I'm sorry Cas, I really am. Just please go away,” Dean yelled back, and judging by the sound of his voice, he was probably sitting on his bed.

“But Dean,” Cas started saying, before he was cut off.

“I said I was sorry!” Dean yelled, louder this time, not just to be heard through the locked door. “It was a stupid thing and I'm a freaking idiot! Now just go the fuck away.” There was a thump on the other side of the door, and Cas could only guess what had been thrown at it.

“You are not an idiot!” Cas yelled back, getting more and more aggravated by the locked door that was making this whole thing far more difficult that it needed to be.

“I am too! I kissed you and I probably hurt you or pissed you off or something, and that makes me king of the idiots!” Another thump, and now Cas realized that that was probably the second boot.

“You didn't hurt me, or piss me off Dean! You only left too damn soon!” Cas yelled back, his voice filled with all the frustration he was feeling. How hard would it be to break through a door of this thickness?

Silence greeted him from the other side. No more boots to throw?

Cas jumped when he heard the lock click. The door opened, but only slightly, showing just a small sliver of Dean's face and body. “What do you mean I left too soon?” Dean asked, sounding confused and hopeful and afraid to even hope in the first place. All the anger in Cas melted immediately.

“You surprised me, Dean, and I wasn't sure how to react at first.” The door edged open a little wider. “I wasn't expecting anything like what happened, and I froze.” A little wider still, showing half of Dean's face, fear and hope mingling in a strange dance across his features. “And when I finally knew what to do, you had ran.” The door eased open far enough that Dean's entire face was visible, as well as a fair amount of his body.

“And that was?” Dean asked, barely above a whisper, voice trembling just slightly.

“To kiss you back,” Cas said, before closing the distance between the door, and brushing his lips against Dean's in the slightest feather touch. Dean threw the door open the rest of the way, grabbing Cas' shirt to pull him close. The sweet kiss turned intense, Dean's tongue sliding over Cas' lips, as if requesting entrance, and of course Cas obliged. Their tongues slid in and out of each others' mouths, fighting for dominance while at the same time accepting defeat.

Dean backed up, pulling Cas with him by the shirt again, until they both fell in a kissing heap onto the bed. Cas' arms were wound around Dean's neck, pulling him closer, while Dean's hands were running through Cas' hair, rubbing at the back of his neck, finding whole areas of his back untouched until now. Their bodies mashed together perfectly, lining up just right to give Dean some of that same perfect friction that he had had in his dream, and he moved closer, needing this, needing Cas, just needing.

Cas pulled his mouth away to moan, making Dean think things that no man should ever be thinking about an angel of the lord. His teeth found Cas' neck, started nibbling like he had in that dream, and the whimper that escaped Cas' lips was the same, only better, because this wasn't a dream, it was completely real. “So much better than the dream,” Dean murmured into Cas' neck, licking a line all the way to the collar of his shirt.

“What dream?” Cas asked, panting and wiggling in a way that made Dean only want him more.

Dean just laughed, face still buried in Cas' jawline, nibbling and licking and teasing. “I'll tell ya later, Cas,” he said before joining lips again, biting Cas' lower one, causing that beautiful moan that Dean just could not get enough of.

So many emotions, fire blazing between the two. Dean couldn't get enough, finding new places, new stretches of skin that he bit and touched and worshiped. Buttons flew everywhere as he ripped off that button up shirt that was just so very Cas in his mind. Cas' hands found their way under Dean's t-shirt, rubbing fast and frantic at the flesh he found. Dean's mouth was exploring his way across Cas' chest, leaving bite marks as a claim of ownership. One tweak of the nipple and Cas' hip speed was increased ten-fold. So Dean made sure to lavish plenty of attention on each of them. Dean's shirts were halfway off before he even realized it, Cas pulling hungrily at them, only getting them even more tangled in the process. Dean pushed him back, ignoring the hurt look on his face, as he yanked the damn Winchester layers off himself. Smiling and winking up at his angel, Dean closed the distance once again, claiming that mouth like a starving man.

The noises the real Cas made were a trillion times better than his subconscious could imagine. And his name on his lip, panted out as “Dean, oh god Dean, yes!” was almost his undoing right then and there.

Pants and boxers were removed, thrown... somewhere. They were like teenagers, horny and inexperienced, fumbling blindly, but none of that mattered. Nothing mattered, except the feeling of Cas, the scent of him, the gasps and moans and every single little noise that Dean could spend a thousand lifetimes hearing and never get tired of. All that mattered was Cas. That was all that ever mattered.

Castiel came first, which only triggered Dean's own release. Even with how awkward it had all been from the outside, it was still the most mind-blowingly amazing orgasm in his lifetime. Exhausted, Cas slumped onto Dean's chest, breathing heavy and happier than he'd ever been in his very long existence. Dean ran his fingers through the dark, damp hair, kissing Cas' forehead lightly, gently. Another claim of ownership, because he planned on never letting go now.

“We should...” Dean spoke hesitantly, not even sure where he was headed with it, but indicating vaguely at the mess they had made of themselves.

“Yeah,” Cas said, still trying to catch his breath. He nodded, and started to push himself up, only to be grabbed by Dean and pulled back down again, getting what little breath he had managed to regain kissed right back out of him.

Fifteen minutes later, they had finally managed to make it to the bathroom for a shower. Dean stepped in to get the water perfect, and Cas stepped in right behind him. The shower took a lot longer than would have been expected, and they both left it a little bit more marked up than they had entered. Dean handed Cas one of his shirts while he got dressed himself, and managed to find a pair of jeans he thought might fit the guy.

Only when they were both dressed, and Dean was eying him like they might not stay that way much longer, did Cas remember the broken mug and spilled coffee on the floor he had left in the kitchen. Dean followed him out, grabbing his hand with his own, entwining their fingers in a way that felt more right than anything this chick flick-y should be allowed. When they got to the kitchen, the floor was clean, and the mug pieces were in the trash where they belonged. Cas looked at Dean, head tilted in confusion, when Sam walked in, chuckling to himself. Dean immediately let go of Cas' hand and jumped to the side, like he'd just been caught doing something he shouldn't have been doing. Cas just stood there, looking awkward.

“Thank you for cleaning up the mess I left,” Cas said, nodding his head at Sam. “I was going to get it myself, but...” His entire face flushed red as he remembered why exactly he'd left it in the first place.

“Just next time, close your door first,” Sam said, trying to hide his smile with aggravation and failing spectacularly.

“So, wait,” Dean started, then stopped because he honestly didn't know where to go from there. Sam wasn't weirded out. Had he known?

His little brother just nodded. “Took you long enough.” Then Sam left the kitchen and his bewildered older brother, mouth hanging open. Castiel was quickly by his side.

Closing his mouth, Dean just looked over at Cas in confusion. “Did everyone know?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If all else fails, end it on smut. Hopefully, this is passable smut (it's literally the first time I ever wrote anything heavier than a semi-make-out-y kiss). I really had planned on keeping this (mostly) innocent, I swear!
> 
> But anyway, this is the end, my friends. I technically left it open-ended enough to write more, but I kinda like this as a stopping point, you know?

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies about the cliffhanger, but I swear, I am 100% behind getting chapter two out as soon as possible. Got it all planned upstairs, and I'm most likely going to start on it as soon as this bad boy is all published up nice and neat. And I'm pretty sure there's only one or two more chapters before it's done (depending on how big the second part is, I might split it up into two instead of one big long mess).


End file.
